a cup

These were the first kind words he had heard for many a day. How soothingly they fell upon his dejected and conscience-smitten spirit! He at first murmured some objection, and glanced at his soiled and tattered garments; but he promised to come. And when he at length made his appearance, she was surprised to see what efforts he had made to render

his person respectable. His matted hair was combed, his beard cut, and he had even attempted to mend his clothes.

Gathering courage from her success thus far, the young lady sat by him at the table to help him to the refreshments, of which he eagerly partook, and to watch a favorable moment to make a serious impression upon his mind. At length it came. With tears in his bloodshot eyes, he thanked her for her kindness; but, said he, "How came you to think of such a miserable wretch as I? When you came to me, I was so very wretched, I had even thought of killing myself." "But you will not think of it again," said she; and then with kindness and fidelity she spoke of the cause of his misery, and its remedy, earnestly entreating him to attend the lecture in the evening, and sign. the pledge. This he promised. And then she warned him of his danger as a sinner, and begged him to flee from "the wrath to come." "I thank you," said the poor miserable inebriate, while the fast-flowing tears attested his sincerity, "I thank you for your friendly warning. I have often wondered why Christians did not talk to me; and I verily thought it was because they considered me a lost man, that no one in this place ever spoke to me of my soul's salvation. But I shall remember what have said to me. And he did you

remember it. That night he joined the temperance society, and took the pledge, which he faithfully kept In a few weeks he became a Christian; and from that time till his death he lived a consistent Christian life.

CHRIST OUR MASTER.

BY REV. STOFFORD W. BROOKE.

Starting from the idea of Christ as the Son of God, it is not hard to see how he is also our master and our friend.

He is our master-our Lord, not by virtue of any of that greatness by which others are our masters. He does not train us, as Bacon does, in the wisdom of the world, though he knew the best side of that wisdom well; he does not teach us how to earn wealth, for all he bids us to do is to take care lest over-anxiety about these matters should steal out of our life sincerity toward God; he does not help us solve any intellectual problem like Aristotle or Kant; he does not increase our love for the outward beauty of nature or mankind, like Phidias or Titian, though many of his sayings bear the mark of that love. But Christ is our master in another, a deeper and more satisfying sense. It is because he never sini ed. Consider what it means to have for our Master one who was absolutely sinless. In our buoyant, careless, happy moods--when life as it is contents us--with our friends around us, when no disappointment cr anxiety oppresses us, while we are free from temptation, it may seem then but a little thing that such a man should have lived on this earth. We are so strong then, so self-satisfied, that Christ is not much more to us than a figure full of beauty and sentiment.

Now, to feel for Christ in that way is good. But it is none the less only the temper of the rich young man who came to Christ, saying, "Gcod

master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?" To be a good Christian, however, is something much harder than that; and the need of Christ in the deeper sense comes, if it comes at all, somewhat after this fashion: our circumstances change for what is distinctly the worse, or we find suddenly that we have been holding a terribly wrong opinion of ourselves. Illness lays its hand upon us, and tempts us to sullenness and morbidity. Pride and conceit have brought us justly into disfavor with others, and spoiled also our work. Sensuality tempts us to low crime and vice. We stand, in a word, on the brink of, or know that we have fallen too far into, one of the pits of life. Our better side is now the

losing side. What can save us, then? Ourselves? No. Ourself seems too despicable. The sense of duty? Not if the love of sin is strong in us. One thing alone can help us,-love, reverence for another who has passed through suffering and temptation, and come out of it still unsullied. The desire to be like him, the desire not to fail before him, therein lies our salvation. It is just this that Jesus Christ is to the Christian. Many men and women, thank God, embody for us in part that saving ideal. But Christ alone is that ideal made perfect. Tempted from day to day, oppressed as only absolute purity can be by the sense of the sin of mankind, all his hopes shattered, deserted by his friends, his body racked upon the cross, he was still in spirit what Munkacsy's pictures, with all their dramatic power and technical skill, distinctly do not make him-Jesus Christ the Son of God, the type, the ideal of what a man may; can, and will be. Is it not, indeed, a great thing for us that such a man should have been? Does it not strengthen, nerve, uplift us out of

MR. CRANE WALKS OUT.

O no, Mr. Crane, by no manner o' means, 'tain't a minnit tew soon for you to begin to talk about gittin' married agin. I am amazed you should be afeerd I'd think so. See' --how long's Miss Crane ben dead? Six months!--land o' Goshen!-why I've know'd a number of individdiwals get married in less time than that. There's Phil Bennet's widder 't I was a talkin' about jest now-she 'twas Louisy Perce--her husband. hadent been dead but three months, you know. I don't think it looks well for a woman to be in such a hurry-but for a mun it's a different thing--circumstances alters cases, you know. And then, sittiwated as you be, Mr. Crane, it's a turrible thing for your family to be without a head to superintend the domestic consarns and tend to the children-to say nothin' o'yerself, Mr. Crane. You dew need a companion, and no mistake. Six months! Good grievous! Why Squire Titus dident wait but sie weeks arter he buried his fust wife afore he married his second. I thought ther wa'n't no partickler need o' his hurryin' so, seein' his family was all grow'd up. Such a critter as he pickt out, tew! 'twas very on suitable-but every man to his taste--I hain't no dispersition to meddle with nobody's consarns. There's old farmer Dawson, tewhis pardner hain't ben dead but ten months. To be sure he aint married yet-but he would a ben long enough ago if somebody I know on'd gin him any incurridgement. But 'tain't for me to speak o' that matter. He's a clever old critter and as rich as a

Jew-but-lawful sakes! he's old enough to be my father. And there's Mr.

ye

Smith-Jubiter Smith-you know him, Mr. Crane--his wife (she 'twas Aurory Pike) she died last summer, and he's ben squintin' round among the wimmin ever since, and he may squint for all the good it'll dew him as far as I'm consarned -tho' Mr. Smith's a respectable man -quite young and hain't no family -very well off tew, and quite intellectible--but I tell what-I'm purty partickler. O, Mr. Crane! it's ten year come Jenniwary since I witnessed the expiration o' my beloved companion!--an oncommon long time to wait, to be sure-but 't ain't easy to find anybody to fill the place o' Hezekier Bedott. I think you're the most like husband of ary individdiwal I ever see, Mr. Crane. Six months! murderation! curus you should be afraid I'd think 't wos tew soon--why I've know’d—'

MR. CRANE.--" Well, widder-I've been thinking about taking another companion-and I thought I'd ask you--"

WIDOW.-"O, Mr. Crane, egscuse my commotion--it's so onexpected. Jest hand me that are bottle o' camfire off the mantlery shelf--I'm ruther faint-dew put a little mite on my handkercher and hold it to my There--that'll dew--I'm obleeged tew ye--now I'm ruther more composed--you may perceed, Mr. Crane."

nuz.

case, at least it has been with all them that's made suppositions to me --you see the're ginerally oncerting about what kind of an anser they're agwine to git, and agwine to git, and it kind o'makes 'em barvous. But when an individdiwal has reason to s'pose his attachment 's reciperated, I don't see what need there is o' his bein' flustered--tho' I must say it 's quite embarrassin' to me--pray continner. MR. C.-" Well, then, I want to know if you're willing I should have Melissy?"

WIDOW.--"The dragon."

MR. C.-"I hain't said anything to her about it yet--thought the proper way was to get your consent first. I remember when I courted Trypheny we were engaged some time before mother Kenipe knew anything about it, and when she found it out she was quite put out because I dident go to her first. So when I made mind about Melissy, up my thinks me, I'll dew it right this time and speak to the old woman first—-”

WIDOW.--"Old woman, hey! that's a purty name to call me!amazin' perlite tew! want Melissy, hey! Tribbleation! gracious sakesa live! well, I'll give it up now! I always know'd you was a simpleton, Tim Crane, but I must confess I dident think you was quite so big a foolwant Melissy, dew ye? If that don't beat all! What an everlastin' old calf you must be to s'pose she'd look at you. Why, you're old enough to be her father, and more tew--Melissy ain't onlyin her twenty-oneth year. What areedickilous idee for a man o' your age! as gray as a rat tew! I wonder what this world is a comin' tew, 't is astonishin' what fools old widdiwers will make o' themselves! Have Melissy! Melissy!"

MR. C.-"Why, widder, you surprise me-I'd no idee of being treated

in this way after you 'd ben so polite to me, and made such a fuss over me and the girls."

A

WIDOW." Shet yer head, Tim Crane-nen o' yer sass to me. There's yer hat on that are table, and here's the door-and the sooner you put on one and march out o' t' other, the better it'll be for you. And I advise you afore you try to git married agin, to go out west and see if yer wife's cold-and arter ye're satisfied on that pint jest put a little lampblack on yer hair-t would add to yer appearance ondoubtedly and be of sarvice tew you when you want to flourish round among the gals--and when ye've got yer hair fixt, jest splinter the spine o' yer back--' wouldent hurt yer looks a miteyou'd be entirely unresistible if you was a leetle grain straighter."

MR. C.--"Well, I never!" WIDOW." Hold your tongue, you consarned old coot you-I tell ye there's yer hat and there's the door be off with yerself, quick metre, or I'll give ye a hyst with the broomstick."

MR. C.-"Gimmeni!"

WIDOW, RISING.-"Git out, I say -I ain't a gwine to stan here and be insulted under my own ruff-and so git-along-and if ever you darken my door agin, or say a word to Melissy, it'll be the woss for you--that's all"

MR. C.-"Treemenjous! What a buster!"

WIDOW."Go 'long-go 'longgo 'long, you everlastin' old gum. I won't hear another word (stops her ears.) I won't, I won't, I won't."

[Exit Mr. Crane. (Enter Melissa accompanied by Captain Canoot.)

Good evenin', Cappen! Well, Melissy, hun at last, hy? why did

ent you stay till morning'? putty bizness keepin' me up here so late waitin' for you-when I'm eny most tired to death ironin' and workin' like a slave all day; ought to ben abed an hour ago. Thought ye left me with agreeable company, hey? I should like to know what arthly reason you had to s'pose old Crane's was agreeable to me? I always dispised the critter-always thought he was a turrible fool-and now I'm convinced on't. I'm completely dizgusted with him—and I let him know it to-night. I gin him a piece o mind 't I guess he'll be apt to remember for a spell. I ruther think he went off with a flea in his ear. Why, Cappen-did ye ever hear o' such a piece of audacity in all yer born days? for him-Tim Crane--to durst to expire to my hand--the widder o deacon Bedott! jest as if I'd condescen to look at him--the old numskull! He don't know B from broomstick; but if he'd a stayed much longer I'd a teacht him the difference, I guess. He's got his walkin' ticket now I hope he'll lemme alone in futur. And where's Kier? Gun home with the Crane's, hey! well, I guess it's for the last time. And now, Melissy Bedott, you ain't to have nothin' more to dew with them

gals-d'ye hear? you ain't to sociate with 'em at all arter this--t'would only be incurridgin th' old man to come a pesterin me agin--and I won't have him round-d'ye hear? Don't be in a hurry, Cappen-and don't be alarmed at my gittin' in such a passion about old Crane's presumption. Mabby you think 't was onfeelin in me to use him so and I don't but what it say then he's so awful dizagreeable tew was ruther, but me, you know-'tain't everrybody I'd treat in such a way. Well, if you must go, good evenin'! Give my

love to Hanner when you write agin -dew call frequently, Cappen Canoot, dew.-From The Widow Bedott Papers.

AN UNFORTUNATE INTERRUP.

TION.

Willie was asleep and Dan was lonely. Willie is the minister's son, Dan is his dog. It was Sunday morning and every one was at church but these two friends. It was warm and sunny, and they could hear the good preaching, for their house was next door to the church.

66

Dan," said Willie, "it is better here than in church, for you can hear every word, and don't get prickles down your back, as you do when you have to sit up straight."

In some way, while Willie was listening he fell asleep.

Dan kissed him on the nose, but when Willie went to sleep he went to sleep to stay, and did not mind trifles. So Dan sat down with the funniest look of care on his wise, black face, and with one ear ready

for outside noises.

Now the minister had for his sub"Daniel." This was the name ject, he always gave Dan when he was teaching him to sit up and beg, and other tricks. While the dog sat thinking, the name "Daniel" fell in his ready ear. Dan at once ran into the church through the vestry door. He stood on his hind legs, with his forepaws drooping close beside the minister, who did not see him, but the congregation did. When the minister shouted" Daniel" again, the sharp barks said, "Yes, sir," as plainly as Dan could answer.

The minister started back, looked around, and saw the funny little picture; then he wondered what he should do next, but just then through the vestry came Willie. His face was rosy from sleep, and he looked a

little frightened. He walked straight toward his father, and took Dan in his arms, and said:

"Please' scuse Dan, papa. I went asleep and he runned away."

Then he walked out with Dan looking back on the smiling congregation. The preacher ended his sermon on Daniel as best he could; but then he made a resolve, if he ever preached again on the prophet Daniel he would remember to tie up his little dog.-Our Little Ones.

PEACE, BE STILL! MARK 15: 39.

When the tempest of life is furious, the waves of sorrow sweeping over, and the gale of grief beating around us, when the eyes grow dim from long watching, and the heart faint from hope deferred, then is the time to look above to the higher powerthe ruler of all storms, and pray for the spirit of "Peace, be still."

When the smile of friendship is withdrawn, and the cheerful sun of affection is hid by the dark clouds of deceit, and the sea of the heart is in great commotion, look to that love that never faileth in the bosom of the Father, and say to the sea—“ Peace,

be still."